


Mutualism

by minorthirds



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Patch 4.5: A Requiem For Heroes Spoilers, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Trans Aymeric de Borel, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24037036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minorthirds/pseuds/minorthirds
Summary: War has come to Ghimlyt, and frayed nerves are wanting for the counsel of a friend.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Hien Rijin
Comments: 25
Kudos: 66





	Mutualism

**Author's Note:**

> i didnt revise this in any substantial way because ive been fighting for hours to post this. here. take it. it's yours now.

The spectre of war had hung over the dark peaks of Ghimlyt as the assembled leaders of the Alliance met with Emperor Varis behind closed doors, and as both parties withdrew from the parley with only more certainty in their conflicting purposes, the haunting haze grew perceptibly darker with the tang of burning ceruleum and the grim certainty of death.

His presence was needed at the war table, but for a moment he slipped out of the way, yielding to the crush of soldiers moving, and runners between them weaving, to positions that had been planned and rehearsed long before a single banner had met the field; the various discrepancies and difficulties of fielding such disparate factions had been streamlined by the siege of Ala Mhigo and the chaos thereof, when training yielded to the instincts that each soldier shared.

He and Lucia had led the charge then; he doubted such a firm grasp on command would be as necessary now, or even as possible to maintain, given the valley unto which two swelling tides rushed could not be further from the fettered city-state that yearned to slip her chains. Even so, there were all matter of factors to otherwise occupy his thoughts – while Lucia lent her Garlean expertise to the war table, he found himself dwelling on other logistics, withdrawn into the theater of his mind rather than that of the impending conflict. The healers as a division were presided over by the Elder Seedseer, but had the Ishgardian chirurgeons been properly outfitted and stationed? Had they proper defenders, combat-oriented members of their parties? Were there enough—

“Lord Commander.”

And what of the runners? Overseen by Flame General Tarupin and thus in the good hands of a natural and charismatic leader, but given that the theater of this conflict vastly differed from a siege, had they enough? Sparse and late-arriving as their Doman allies were, perhaps they would be better suited to—

“Ser Aymeric.”

That said, perhaps the Knights Dragoon might be of some aid in bolstering the ranks—

_“Aymeric.”_

A firm hand grasping at his forearm drew Aymeric, sharply and shocked, from his cloud of half-formed worries; he quite near jumped, looking up (or down, rightly, as he had a few ilms on the interloper) to the stern face of one Hien Rijin, brows drawn tight together in concern.

“...Lord Hien,” Aymeric said faintly, his voice having largely fled him. “I must apologize, I—”

“If you mean to wear trenches in the earth, my friend,” Hien said with the lilting Doman accent to his Eorzean that stole away some of the sting of his words and soothed any of Aymeric’s lingering surprise, “perhaps I would fetch you a shovel.”

Aymeric at that moment finally glanced about himself, taking in the narrow alley between two pitched tents that had been reduced to a strip of muddied earth by many pairs of boots, most recently his sabatons, his frenetic pacing footsteps overlaid one over the next. A tucked-away corner of relative privacy to which he had blindly taken his jumbled thoughts, heedless of the timing.

“Ah,” he said finally. Hien must have been sent to fetch him. Time grew short, and fretting was useless by his lonesome when he could be working for the good of the nation, the realm, the very star itself.

“May I have a moment?” Hien interrupted his thoughts.

Aymeric failed to respond in an audible manner, rather stricken by repeated surprises, but his willingness to follow the direction of Hien’s pull spoke for him; the Hyur indicated one of the nearby tents and they slipped between the flaps, Aymeric ducking under the raised canvas.

Inside were crates upon boxes of various sundry supplies, likely relatively unimportant resources given the lack of a guard – even at war, men must be spared for such tasks – but enough space existed between the crates to stand comfortably, if perhaps a little closer than was cordial.

“What—” Aymeric began, searching Hien’s face when the latter released his grip; to pull him aside like this, there must be something more gravely amiss than simply his absence from the war room.

Hien was not content to let him finish the thought. He folded his arms. “Good men and women march to their deaths today. For a purpose they deem worthy of their sacrifice. They will look to us for something – someone to believe in, and that is what we must give them.”

Chastisement. Though not of a sort he did not deserve, he supposed. A right mess he must have looked, pacing about with the distress of a helpless maiden when he was here to represent – to lead – a nation.

Yet he could not dull the slicing edge of guilt pressed to his breast at the vain, traitorous thought that perhaps it could have been different. _Would_ be different, if he were any other man, if he had been strong enough to weather the slings of Varis’s words, to have somehow, some way, steered the tide of debate in some other direction—

“Naught you could have said or done would have changed the outcome. Nor was that the task at hand.” Hien shifted his weight. “We played our gambit for the chance to save lives. Every moment we deliberated gave our men another moment to prepare, gave them another shred of hope.”

Aymeric realized he had looked away when Hien rustled in the passing beat of silence; a hand had risen to rub at his face, and Aymeric fancied Hien’s voice had been curiously thick afore he had paused.

“’Tis my hope,” the Doman said finally, “that you believe these things to be true, for as I find my bravery wavering I look to the bulwark of my allies. Please. Tell me we have the strength to see this through.”

As frost clearing from cold panes and setting the morning sun to gleaming, understanding dawned upon Aymeric, understanding that bade him cast his gaze upon the sharp planes of Hien’s face with both sadness and sympathy.

Fools, the both of them. Clamouring to bear alone the burden of responsibility when in the actual ‘twas shared. They were more alike than Aymeric had fathomed, and it was that thought that drew the flicker of fondness to his voice.

“You have the right of it,” Aymeric began, careful to not be swayed from his thoughts by Hien’s bright eyes holding Aymeric’s own, “and it is a comfort to not be alone in one’s fears. Yet ‘tis ill-befitting a leader to bemoan the path already trod when our present terrain holds such peril.”

Hien’s lips parted, either to rebut the statement or voice his agreement, but Aymeric shook his head. They had wasted enough time, given that outside their small tent corner the might of the Empire bore inexorably down upon them. “The front awaits, Lord Hien. Brave soldiers have need of our faith and confidence.”

“Then we go to them,” Hien agreed with a nod, vigor and assurance inherent in the gesture. “With both restored.”

They shouldered together out of the tent with discretion – the movement of frantic soldiers to the field at Ghimlyt had thinned, and the Doman lord and the Lord Commander were noticeably tardy.

At the junction between tent-pitched alleyway and boot-muddied thoroughfare each paused; Hien would go left to join the Warrior of Light, and Aymeric right to lead his troops.

Before them lay fates neither could foresee.

“Thank you,” Aymeric said softly, in the brief moment of thick anticipation. “For the words, and for the saying of them.”

Hien’s glance Aymeric expected, and he did not yield then; but Hien’s fierce grip upon his forearm was startling and the Lord Commander turned with lips half-parted.

“Fight well and live,” Hien demanded of him. A tightening of his hand, and then he was released.

And then they ran.

The tides of war rose and fell, withdrew from the black-sand shore of the forward camp at Ghimlyt to surrender the flotsam of wounded soldiers and wounded pride.

Lord Hien sat upright in his cot, his bare chest strung about with linen bandages, as Aymeric drew back the heavy cloth flaps that barred the infirmary from outside eyes.

If he had had his way, he would have borne the Warrior of Light alone the entire distance, but the commotion and clamour that had arisen around the sight of the Savior of Eorzea, reduced to an unconscious heap of red cloth and scars and limbs dangling limp, wrested the burden from his grip unheeding of his protests. So it was that a handful of different Grand Company uniforms poured in rather gracelessly, greenhorns who recoiled at the immediate snap and ire of the attending chirurgeon, to deposit their hero safely upon an empty cot and immediately flee for their lives lest they bear the retribution of scalpels – or worse, laundering the linens.

Hien continued to watch the proceedings silently and impassively, as Aymeric bent his head to exchange murmurs with the chirurgeon and as the Warrior of Light lay listlessly upon the cot, entrapped in the same deathless sleep that had seized his companions.

Aymeric knew of Hien’s rapt attention, as he had not felt the heavy weight of the man’s gaze upon him lift since he had entered the tent.

Accordingly, he was not surprised when – upon his taking leave to allow the healer the privacy to perform the requisite examination – the sound of rough-spun cloth rustling and moving attended him shortly thereafter.

“What–?”

“Not here,” Aymeric interrupted quietly. He had meant to make a report to the other Alliance leaders himself, but given Hien’s solitary presence in the infirmary when the Ascian that puppeted the crown prince had laid low several of the Alliance’s best, he would trust that Commander Lyse had taken on that responsibility.

“My tent, then,” Hien said, and Aymeric found no reason to argue otherwise.

Through the maze of pitched tents and carts and muddied roads, dotted here and there with the bright colors of the Alliance as men moved about their tasks, Hien led him; the Doman contingent had arrived with such urgency that their quarter of the camp was naught but a cobbled-together afterthought, and it followed that the rudimentary grid patterning was lacking as far as logistical brilliance was concerned. Nevertheless, the walk was not so far that the silent tension became overwhelming; though the sight of a tent, appearing no different than its fellows but pitched with a noticeable ring of space around it, drew from Aymeric a sigh. Not of relief, but rather of released anticipation.

Addressing the gravity of the situation with Hien for company rather than the whole of the Alliance was... improper and needlessly complex, of course, but strangely comforting. A fellow in the Alliance he was, but Aymeric would call the Doman lord a friend – as near to one as he had among the assembly of leaders.

He had precious few of those in supply of late, and he had developed the rather irksome habit of failing them.

“What of Zenos?” Hien had scarce waited for the tent flap to settle behind Aymeric’s back before he pivoted on a heel, his gaze intense and settling upon Aymeric heavier than armor. The samurai’s fists curled and tightened at his sides.

The plight of the Warrior of Light was familiar to them both, but the mood of the crown prince – nay, the Ascian that had taken his shape – was both mercurial and a far more immediate danger.

Aymeric paused a moment, then shook his head. Hien’s pragmatism surprised him, and Aymeric had tragically little of which to apprise him. “It seems he has withdrawn in the wake of their duel. I can but hope that the Warrior of Light dealt him a telling blow.”

One of Hien’s hands flexed and then rubbed at his chin, a tic Aymeric was beginning to recognize. He was silent as he thought, eyes cast down to the plain cloth floor of his tent, and the tension in the quiet grew with its lengthening; Aymeric could not guess at what gears turned in the man’s mind, and he had nearly settled on leaving Hien to his ruminations, thinking he detected from the Doman a tacit dismissal, when at last Hien spoke his mind, his voice a rasp.

“We could do nothing. I could do nothing. To fall so shamefully against the Empire that would recolonize my people,” for Ala Mhigo was the target of their present campaign, but little doubt remained as to the next objective, “’tis difficult to believe that I may serve my people in any capacity but a martyr.”

It would be falsehood for Aymeric to pretend that the sentiment surprised him; indeed he felt as if all those who sat at the Alliance table harbored such thoughts in the backs of their minds. Yet to hear it spoken surprised and sobered him, in a way that even carrying the Warrior of Light as the latter hung limply in his arms did not. ‘Twas not complacency, not quite – but perhaps denial of their shared plight, their helplessness against the inexorable forces of the Ascians and the Empire without their vaunted hero to protect them. However he might describe it, he was surprised to hear it voiced, especially by the man who had nigh begged him to maintain the façade of faith and confidence.

–So that he may take strength from it as well.

Hien wore no shirt to cover his bandages, and that fact elicited a bare moment of hesitation – though he had learned much regarding Hien’s style of communication he wondered if the gesture was perhaps too forward – before Aymeric drew closer to settle a hand upon Hien’s healthier shoulder, the one which bore a well-defined scar, the ridges of which were apparent even through the Lord Commander’s glove.

Hien’s gaze had fallen askance, but snapped up to Aymeric’s then, his brows furrowed in the beginnings of a question; the better to answer it afore it was spoken, Aymeric repeated back the words Hien had given him some time ago, to strengthen the bulwark of his conviction.

“Good men and women look to us for something to believe in.”

Hien twitched, the closest he might come to a proper flinch at words that stung him despite their mannerly intent. His mouth tightened into a thinner line, as did Aymeric’s, recognizing that he had made a mistake.

“You needn’t remind me,” Hien said darkly, stepping away and out of the slackening grasp of Aymeric’s hand. He raised a hand to rub at his face – that same tic once again – avoiding Aymeric’s eyes to glance about his tent. “Time and again I have failed my people. I fled my nation, abetted men of disreputable character, sought to content myself with the fantastical belief that the Empire might simply grow tired of tormenting Doma – for years my every breath insulted those who gave their lives in defense of my people’s dignity.”

Aymeric held his breath while Hien paused to replenish his; the latter’s glance toward the former suggested he might leave his torrent of words at that, but whatever he saw in Aymeric’s face must have been sufficiently encouraging, if the resigned sigh was anything to go by.

“’Twas unfair of me to inflict my insecurities upon you, Lord Commander. Please, accept my apology.”

“I will not,” Aymeric responded.

Hien’s gaze shot up and to Aymeric’s with alarm; Aymeric stood with his arms crossed, stern, but his next words might serve to soften the blow. “For to do so would be to imply I felt you had done aught to warrant it. Which I do not.”

Hien’s mouth turned down at the corners.

“We have each of us committed unconscionable, reprehensible acts – acts that fly in the face of every cause we have ever championed. Though it may be our wont to beg for forgiveness, I believe that there is no power upon this star that may grant it save one’s own conscience. We may pray for absolution from the Twelve, from the kami, but no matter what succor they may grant, we fashion ourselves undeserving of it afore we have let forgiveness into our own hearts. ‘Tis not I from whom you seek forgiveness, Lord Hien; ‘tis yourself.”

A long silence followed the swell and taper of Aymeric’s voice in the small space, during which Hien’s brows drew close together, an indication of the volume of his thoughts. Yet again Aymeric began to feel as though he were intruding by remaining while Hien remained so obviously engrossed in his mind; but this time, at least, he reminded himself that Hien’s self-reflection was the intended outcome, and the latter would have dismissed him had he once more spoken wrong.

“ _Kami,_ but you have a gift for that,” Hien said faintly at last, so softly that Aymeric might not have noticed if he had not been listening so intently that he could make out the sounds of soldiers dozens of yalms away.

Aymeric’s gaze had drifted, and the words drew him back, but scarce had a questioning noise begun to vibrate in his throat before Hien was upon him, so suddenly that Aymeric nearly stumbled back a step; but a gentle grasping hand at his hip held firm as Hien lifted his lips from Aymeric’s mouth (the corner of his mouth, in specific, but that invited the splitting of hairs he was not certain he had the capacity to split at present without evoking a dozen and one more particulars to analyze) and summarily blinked.

“Ah... forgive me,” Hien said, taking in Aymeric’s startled and bemused expression as he withdrew. “’Tis a Steppe gesture; I found myself for a moment lost for words, though I should have—”

“There is naught to forgive,” Aymeric interrupted, though softly, faintly, still rather distracted; he cleared his throat. “P-perhaps I should,” his gaze flicked toward the entrance flap of the tent; not that he intended to flee, nothing of the sort, merely that – he had other business to attend to (not at present), he had a report to give (that Commander Lyse had given), he had—

“Of course,” Hien said obligingly, though his voice seemed to – catch, almost.

Aymeric glanced back to him and hesitated. If he had given offense, it was not intended; he did not doubt the professed meaning of the gesture, nor did he think any differently of Lord Hien for it... ‘twas merely that...

“Aymeric?”

The familiarity tugged strangely in his stomach – why? They had titles but hardly the arrogant desire to require them – ‘twas hardly the first time either had gone without – and yet –

_Yet –_

Aymeric cleared his throat again. “’Tis nothing,” he said with great haste, aware that he was only causing more concern with every moment he remained in Hien’s presence acting as oddly as he was.

“It was not my intent to offend you,” Hien said, and the care and dismay in the statement twisted knots in Aymeric’s stomach to hear.

“You’ve done nothing of the sort,” he assured Hien, nearly stumbling over the words. “I only...”

In what way could he communicate that, far from offense, the gesture had ignited a bolt of lightning down the length of Aymeric’s spine and awoken thoughts he knew not how to silence besides by fleeing from them as would a steinbock from a wolf? How might he _explain_ that the mere suggestion of Hien’s mouth upon his would haunt his dreams for a fortnight, bereft as he was of any other way to channel that restless energy?

From Aymeric’s visage Hien seemed to glean a measure of understanding, for he relaxed in slow degrees watching Aymeric losing patience with the direction his thoughts were taking.

Hien stepped closer, and Aymeric tensed as if to bolt. How ridiculous, he thought, consciously suppressing the urge; he felt like a teenager, at the whim of impulse and suggestion. Surely a walk might clear his head – a walk and a frigid bucket of water. Hien was about to tell him to do just that, and he would agree and calmly turn around and –

“Aymeric.” Hien was directly before him now, the difference in their height distinct but immaterial under the weight of Hien’s gaze upon his.

“Might you allow me to thank you properly?”

The deep, sultry undercurrent of Hien’s voice, the heat of his body that Aymeric felt, so close were they standing... As if two panes of glass finally touching, every minute detail shifted into clear focus, and the jolt of electricity this time sparked a flame in Aymeric’s stomach.

“Yes,” he breathed, and closed his eyes as Hien reached up.

One hand tangled in Aymeric’s black locks, near to the nape of his neck, and when Hien kissed him it was none too gentle; that hand tugged at his roots even as Hien’s other gripped at his side, and what might’ve been the chaste touch of lips was deepened, ruined by Aymeric’s sharp gasp. In response to it Hien tilted his head and pressed further into Aymeric, his enthusiasm infectious; it was then that Aymeric’s mind caught up with the present, and he settled both hands upon Hien’s cotton-clothed hips, the better to anchor himself as he kissed him back.

In this manner they continued until lungs set to burning, and when Aymeric pulled away to gasp Hien’s mouth glided down his jaw and then along his neck, not so much kissing along his skin as dragging against it. The lack of care suited Aymeric just fine, and he let the tips of his fingers explore the ridges of Hien’s back beneath his bandages.

“Tell me to stop,” Hien murmured hotly against Aymeric’s neck, arching against him as Aymeric’s fingers alighted upon a particularly sore muscle, “and I shall.”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Aymeric bade him, gasping when the mere hint of Hien’s teeth pressed at his neck. “Please.”

This was irresponsible. It was something much further beyond irresponsible, but Aymeric found his thoughts moving slower than molasses and so struggled for a word closer to the meaning. A part of his mind that seemed eternally devoted to questioning his judgment was happy to continue reminding him that this was _beyond_ irresponsible – and put simply, he was happy to let it continue doing just that, for he had decided (at least for a short time) to ignore it entirely.

 _To hells with responsibilities_ , this other part of him said. The same part of him that had rationally sent for his father’s head – the same part of him that knew he had not the strength to do it himself. The part of him that believed nothing of what he spoke and showed to others. To hells with responsibilities, it said, for a swift and sure fate was coming when the Garlean tide rose again.

Hien’s teeth grazed against his neck once more, and Aymeric hissed in a breath.

Meant Hien to _mark_ him? – Even the thought raised a deep flush of shame up to the tips of his ears; shame not at the prospect of noticeable marks high upon his neck while they assembled at the war table, but at the jolt to his nethers as he considered it.

Hien’s grip twisted in his hair once more, pulling firmly enough to catch his full attention so that he might meet Hien’s darkly smouldering eyes looking up at him through his lashes.

“By the volume of your thoughts,” he said lowly, pressing up against the planes of Aymeric’s front with purpose, “’twould seem I must do more to keep your attention, hm?”

“Hi– _ah_ ,” Aymeric gasped, the second syllable of Hien’s name dragging out into a breathy moan as the man’s hand dipped deftly between layers of armor and fabric to press purposeful fingertips against the seam of his trousers; he was certain he was wet through them, and judging by the crooked smirk that stretched across Hien’s face, he was right.

Hien glanced up at him through thick lashes again, even as Aymeric steeled himself against the desire to roll his hips against that hand. “Tell me to stop.”

“I will not,” Aymeric responded immediately, leaning down to press his lips firmly against Hien’s, less as a kiss and more as an assertion.

“Then I would see you out of that damnable armor,” Hien said.

Aymeric had never disrobed so swiftly. Hien’s heavy gaze upon him, sharpening with each ilm of skin he revealed, only spurred him on faster, to a point such that he fumbled with the fastenings of his sabatons and the laces of his trousers; eventually he stood before Hien in only his smalls, a state of dress comparable to the samurai clad in only bandages and modesty cotton trousers.

Hien swallowed visibly. “Good,” he said, and the rake of his eyes upon Aymeric’s form made Aymeric feel strangely proud. Not often had he felt so openly wanted – especially by a partner of convenience.

Hien jerked his chin towards his cot, but when Aymeric turned to step toward it, he was halted by a hand on his hip. He paused, and Hien stepped closer from behind, slipping both hands around Aymeric’s front and leaning in to press a kiss against the ridge of Aymeric’s spine that rose at the junction of his shoulders and neck.

“Forgive me,” Hien murmured after a moment of hovering there, in that same position, caught somewhere between a tender embrace and a well-mannered grope. “I’ve harbored that desire for _moons_.”

A bolt of lightning shot through Aymeric. _Moons?_

He must have muttered that aloud; else Hien was nearly prescient, as he laughed lowly while urging Aymeric toward the bed. “And Yugiri chided me for swooning as a maiden, all the while you were oblivious. Never have I known a man so blind to his own charms.”

“I,” Aymeric started, distracted, as Hien gently pushed him down onto the cot. “I had thought that this –”

“It is as I said,” Hien was quick to assure him. _Prescient._ He had to be, Aymeric decided. “This is merely an,” Hien paused as he knelt between Aymeric’s knees, smirking that same crooked grin as he watched realization of his intent dawn on Aymeric’s visage, “ _extended_ show of gratitude. Now, pray lay back and let me do more than simply pay lip service to the idea.”

The last statement was punctuated by Hien placing a wide, callused, warm hand upon Aymeric’s stomach and ridding him of his smalls with one quick gesture. With nigh on any other partner Aymeric would have chafed at such control being exerted over him, but the warmth and trust he held for Hien allowed him to do as he was bid, closing his eyes and fisting his hands in the fabric of the cot as Hien pressed warm lips to his mound.

The gentle scrape of wiry facial hair against the sensitive skin of his upper thighs and nethers wrought strangled gasps from Aymeric, stricken by how foreign the sensation. With a low chuckle that reverberated through his mouth, Hien gently settled both hands upon Aymeric’s thighs before reaching his prize – at a flat swipe of his tongue against Aymeric’s clit, the latter bucked, straining against Hien’s grip as Hien wrapped kiss-swollen lips around his nub.

Streaks of white-hot pleasure flashed across Aymeric’s eyes behind his closed lids; one hand shot southward to fist in Hien’s wild, tied-back hair, and the samurai’s resultant low noise sent vibrations through Aymeric that had him arching in unfettered pleasure.

Hien released Aymeric’s clit and shifted just an ilm to cant the slope of his nose against it while his tongue circled Aymeric’s slit; Aymeric moaned in approval, his arousal apparent to Hien as the latter dutifully lapped at it. “Good,” Aymeric murmured distantly, hardly cognizant of it, lost in sensation as he was – but at Hien’s noticeable shiver, at the way his tongue slanted to delve gracelessly into him, Aymeric writhed as best he could in Hien’s strong, callused grip, reflecting intently on the praise that had gleaned that reaction.

“ _Twelve,_ ” Aymeric moaned as bristly hair scraped against his folds; he had tried to be quiet, mindful of their location and those who might overhear, but the fevered press of Hien’s tongue against his walls had shaken him of that resolve, such that he might even—

“ _Oh,_ ” Aymeric gasped, his thoughts scattering at the press of a broad fingertip into him; at a second he arched blindly, even as Hien returned his mouth to his clit, circling the nub with his tongue whilst two fingers worked him open. “Hi– _ah!_ ”

He tangled his fingers deep in Hien’s hair as he crested, sparks across his vision rendering him unseeing though his eyes had flown open; dimly he was aware of Hien’s fingers moving in him through his climax, easier now that they had crooked inside him just right and driven him to his peak, and he rolled his hips against them obediently as he rose onto a forearm and tried to recall how to breathe.

Through thick lashes Hien gazed up at him, looking disheveled but rather self-satisfied as he lifted his head from his work. Aymeric’s hand had grown lax in Hien’s hair and it fell easily away as Hien shifted his weight back, flushed and grinning and with a tell-tale glisten to his mouth that had Aymeric’s blush deepening once he noticed.

They gazed at each other in such a way, for a handful of heartbeats, until the silence drove from Aymeric a remark that could only be the product of an over-steamed mind.

“And was _that_ a Steppe gesture?”

Hien snorted, a loud, sudden thing that shattered whatever lingering tension might have remained; the both of them laughed, and Hien stood, proffering a hand to Aymeric to lift him.

Thinking it was to help him sit, Aymeric took it; Hien’s grip tightened and he pulled more strongly than Aymeric had anticipated, and he nigh tumbled from the cot in the confusion, only gaining his full footing once Hien had cast an arm about his middle and pulled Aymeric’s weight against himself.

“Well,” Hien said with the breathiness of a chuckle, “now that we have each said our pieces, I—”

Aymeric stepped out of the curve of Hien’s arm and rested both hands lightly upon his shoulders. “’Twould be _remiss_ of me,” he said strongly, pushing Hien down to the cot, “to leave a favor unpaid; if we are to speak of traditions, ‘tis an ignominy to be sent away with a debt if one possesses both the _means_ and the _desire_ to fulfil it.”

Hien relented, seeing Aymeric was not to be swayed, and finally allowed himself to be pressed down onto the bed. “Far be it from me to criticize your chivalry,” he said lightly, watching intently as Aymeric moved to place a knee beside each of his thighs.

“’Tis fortunate that I possess both the desire,” Hien’s arousal had been evident from the first, and Aymeric relished the moment of pleasure that darted across Hien’s face at the gentle weight of Aymeric’s palm upon him through the thin trousers, “and the means.”

Though Hien had meant to be so gentlemanly as to dismiss Aymeric before himself attending to his aching cock, the speed at which he shed himself of the last stitches of clothing between them spoke volumes of the strength – and the fraying – of his resolve.

Aymeric palmed Hien’s cock with a light touch, feeling it jump in his hand, eyes upon Hien’s all the while; when the latter moved as if to expedite the process, to take control in any greater sense, Aymeric rose higher on his knees and guided Hien down again with his other hand splayed against the side of his chest that was not striped with bandages.

“Your wounds, _Lord Hien_ ,” Aymeric reminded him, slicking his palm with the first drops of Hien’s arousal as he worked him. “Please, allow me.”

From the way Hien’s cock jerked at the title, Aymeric expected either a moan or a gracefully tongue-in-cheek rebuke – ‘twas too early to say they had established a pattern, of course, merely he thought Hien familiar enough to him by now to be able to anticipate his reactions – but he received neither, to his surprise. Instead Hien rose up on a forearm, the better to reach and catch fingertips upon Aymeric’s jaw, and said faintly, “ _Kami,_ but you are a sight like this."

So startled by the turn of mood was Aymeric that he faltered for a moment in his ministrations; yet in but a moment he resumed them with even greater haste, turning his face to press his lips against Hien’s palm. Then, with his eyes fixed upon Hien’s, he took two of the samurai’s fingers into his mouth, wrapping his lips around them to the second knuckle and mouthing at them almost idly as he worked Hien’s length and teased its slit with the tip of his thumb.

Hien’s eyes upon his were wide and dark, pupils blown with desire, and he began slowly to fuck Aymeric’s mouth with his fingers, watching with intent the way Aymeric took them deeper, without complaint, on every thrust.

“Very good,” said Hien lowly, and Aymeric could not help himself; he moaned around the fingers pressed against his tongue, and, in one swift motion, took Hien by the base and guided him inside.

Whatever sense of rhythm either of them had tried to maintain summarily fell away; the press of Hien inside him kindled a needy, desperate heat low in Aymeric’s stomach, and he held Hien down with his weight and rode him with abandon, taking his fingers into his throat and mouthing blindly at the base of them.

“ _Kami,_ Aymeric,” Hien swore, thrusting back into him every beat Aymeric drove his hips southward, each surge of them together growing more erratic as they chased release. Hien shot upward on the lee of a thrust to mouth feverishly at Aymeric’s chest, seizing with tight lips upon one of his nipples, and the sudden jolt of sensation tipped Aymeric over the edge of his climax with a gasp and a groan. The flutter of Aymeric’s walls around his length as he came drove Hien to his release, and with a sharp exhale he spilled inside, casting his free arm about Aymeric’s back to brace against him as he came.

After several careful breaths Hien disentangled himself from Aymeric and the mess of limbs they had found themselves in; he did not retreat far, however, for Aymeric swayed forward, still astride Hien, to rest their foreheads together for a moment.

“I trust,” he said faintly, regaining his own breath still, “that you have no further concerns?”

“Mm,” Hien thought for a moment. “Apart from those regarding the logistics of our _greater_ predicament, I believe they’ve been addressed. Your counsel was _illuminating_ , Ser Aymeric, and I must confess I am greatly comforted to know I might make use of it in the future.” Hien shifted slightly, and Aymeric atop him; the discomfort of come and sweat was beginning to make itself apparent. “If you are agreeable to an arrangement, of course.”

“’Twould be quite welcome,” Aymeric replied. “’Tis apparent, after all, that the benefit is mutual.”

**Author's Note:**

> don't @ me (or do, i'm not your boss, i'm twitter user @gayprotagonist).
> 
> i am contractually obligated to remind you that we party in [the book club](https://discord.gg/HjrsHFZ).


End file.
